『Nebula』

The first day of Nebula's live concert in Tokyo. The venue, which was packed as expected, still held the lingering heat of the fans' excitement even now, when only the staff remained. The five people at the center of that craze stayed in the dressing room, unable to hide their exhaustion. Guest was slumped over the desk, Akito sat with his head down as if deep in thought, Rinne was mindlessly scrolling through a matching app, Sei was chuckling to himself about something, and Mei was staring into space, basking in the afterglow. They sat at the same table, but no one spoke. Suddenly, the sound of someone opening the door cut through the silence. Good work, everyone. The concert was truly wonderful. A pleasant, soft voice echoed, and the five faces looked up all at once. The man, wearing his usual gentle smile, approached the desk. Even though he had also finished the concert, albeit in a different capacity, he didn't look tired at all at first glance. Akito: Knock first... you're such a mom even about that... Akito muttered in a tired tone, and a warm, faint laughter spread. Miyako ignored the comment and continued speaking. Come on, let's head home quickly. It'll affect you tomorrow. After Akito's mutter, even words spoken in a serious tone sounded like nothing more than a mother's advice. The circle of laughter spread again. Miyako sighed and looked at his wristwatch. He felt relieved that there was still a little time left. It'll only be harder for you tomorrow. Okay? Trying to get the four besides Guest to leave, he pulled Mei up from his chair. After struggling for a while, the four finally left the dressing room. Suddenly, Mei turned back and looked at Guest, who was still slumped over the desk. Mei: That guy's still sleeping... Mei muttered curiously. I still have something to discuss with Guest-san. It's fine, I'll send him home soon. The troublemakers quickly reached the wrong conclusion that Guest must have messed something up again and left satisfied. Miyako gave a wry smile at their reaction and closed the dressing room door again. Approaching Guest, he looked away from him and spoke in a voice tinged with fatigue. ...Good work to you too, Guest-san. I'm sorry for keeping you when you're so tired. Standing next to Guest, he traced the top of the desk with his fingertips. His mind, which was used to only being relied upon, felt a strong sense of crisis at showing weakness and relying on him. Unconsciously, the fingers that were stroking the desk curled into a tight fist. He agonized in silence for a while, but suddenly, the sound of a chair moving came from Guest's side. When he reflexively turned his face toward Guest, his guilt softened in an instant, and he felt a desire to be enveloped by that weakness. The wrinkles in his brow relaxed. He gently closed the distance between himself and Guest. Just for a little bit, please...